Erik's Day Out
by IChooseTheScorpion
Summary: Humor Writing Contest entry. The Opera Ghost became just that: a ghost. One lovely enough 2005 day as far as Erik could tell from the cellars Erik decided to get a breath of fresh air...


**

* * *

**

Erik's Day Out

by

IChooseTheScorpion

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** Another Humor Writing Contest Entry. This one got number 11, which was like :gasp: for me because it was my favorite. :tear: I'm oevr it, I swear. :grumble:SennaWaleswinner:grumble: Just kidding...This one has a bit of a less random (depending on the opinion of a reader, actually) humor than Erik's Birthday Presents.

* * *

**Summary:** Humor Writing Contest entry. "The Opera Ghost became just that: a ghost. Ironically enough, the one thing that Erik prayed to happen (as far back as hecould remember) could nownot actually happen, as ghosts do not die." Erik is bored down in his lair and decided to venture forth into the new and changed Paris Opera House...

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PotO...But neither do you, so it's not like you can rub it in my face!

* * *

The Opera Ghost became just that: a ghost. Ironically enough, the one thing that Erik prayed to happen since he could remember could not happen, as ghosts do not die. Consequently, when the 2004 movie based on Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera came out, Erik was around to see it. Or, rather, he would have been, if he had not bought TiVo and therefore had the remarkable ability to fast forward through commercials. 

So, the Phantom of the Opera never _did_ find out about the movie. Good thing, too, or else he would have surely thrown a fit to see a boy who starred in action flicks with Angelina Jolie play the Opera Ghost. But no, Erik instead stayed in his dark and decidedly morbid dwelling to watch reruns of _Gilmore Girls_ and _Friends._

"No, Ross! Don't let Rachel go! You'll never see you again! She'll run off with that idiot _boy_, Joey! Go after her, man!" Erik angrily advised the fictional on-screen characters. Over a period of over a hundred years, one's mental state tends to recede in quality, which is especially horrendous in such cases as Erik's where the being's mental state wasn't too intact in the first place.

After shouting advice in vain at the comedic but drama-ridden characters on the television for a bit longer, Erik decided that he would venture beyond the limited space and adventure of his bat cave to get another healthy dose of the most addictive thing under the stars: caffeine. It was the twenty-first century's morphine!

Luckily for the reclusive ghost, Starbucks tends to secure its roots into every available lot with even the slightest business advantage, putting Java City to shame within weeks. Therefore, Erik need not travel further than the second cellar for a Venti caramel Frappuccino with two shots of espresso and extra caramel.

And that is exactly what the legitimate Phantom ordered to the stereotypical teenager that took his order and fumbled with the cash register for several minutes before realizing that he was punching numbers into Ayesha the cat's back. Snatching his only friend from the pimply redhead's grasp, Erik stroked the soft fur of his lovely kitty pal while the cashier-type person tapped the correct numbers into the register with astonishing accuracy.

Erik grumbled and groaned about the outrageous price of the coffee drink after the puberty-afflicted teen named the price in his squawky, adolescent voice.

Stroking the stiff Ayesha's little black nose and then allowing his oh-so-sexy (by his own opinion) hands to drift down the permanently curled-up animal's back, Erik regarded the low-calorie coffee cake with interest. On one incredibly long-fingered hand, it would mean more caffeine with the added bonus of sugar. On the other, it would mean another few francs.

Finally, after a lengthy discussion with his decidedly immobile stuffed cat, Erik came to the conclusion that a small square of coffee cake, no matter how low-calorie it may be, would not only be a worthy investment but it would release endorphins into his system. The chronically depressed ghost held the opinion that he was highly in need of endorphins.

The little Starbucks worker chose that exact moment, when Erik had just ordered and received the delicious little bit of heaven in the form of cake, to call out the name that was on Erik's Frappuccino cup.

Hurrying over to retrieve the scrumptious, further endorphin-releasing drink, Erik noticed something about the name written on the side in black Sharpie.

With a rather frightening roar of fury, Erik cut short the two Starbucks workers' lives with two quick flicks of his Punjab lasso. Growling and grumbling under his breath about spelling Erik with a C is place of a K, Erik clutched the stuffed Ayesha in one arm and held the cake and Frappaccino in the other.

What a reader must come to terms with, when reading this next bit, is that when one spots a tall, transparent man who is carrying a large, icy coffee drink with whipped cream and a coffee cake in one hand and a dead but preserved animal in the other, one has one of several reactions: laugh maniacally to the tune of the Jeopardy theme, freeze up and fall into a coma, induce vomiting periodically for several minutes, cartwheel away while gigantic purple nuns fly across one's vision, or stare. When that tall, transparent man is yielding a long rope made of catgut and is wearing a mask that covers his entire face, a combination of these reactions may occur.

Consequently, when tourists saw this man and their reactions ensured, it was a very odd sight indeed. It was also an incredibly convenient moment for Jonathon "J-Cobb" Jing-Gill Heimer Schmidt, and it inspired him to write an incredibly annoying and distinctive song about his own name which caused millions to suffer around the world, especially school bus-drivers.

In addition to creating this God-awful song which can be easily compared the the bleats of a dying calf, Jonathon "J-Cobb" Jing-Gill Heimer Schmidt also raised his camcorder and caught the entire scenario on film. A week after his visit to the Paris Opera House, Schmidt submitted the videotape to a local newstation where he lived in Alaska. Needless to say, Jpnathon was exiled to French Canadia, before returning to his Norwegian ancestors' homeland of Norwegia.

Not that Erik knew, saw, or responded to any of these events, as he had dropped his long green straw somewhere above the first floor of the Opera House. After leaving the Starbucks in the second cellar, Erik had received the incredibly powerful burst of adrenaline that is released after drinking a mixture of caffeine and sugar. With this energy came several fleeting, spontaneous urges to do who-knows-what. In accordance to one of these urges, Erik had scampered up two stories in the time span of four point six minutes.

In this time span, Erik had managed to drop the straw to his Frappuccino. With a horribly out-of-charactter whine of frustration, Erik glanced around before spotting another Starbucks in the corner of the first floor and literally hopping and leaping over to fetch another straw.

With that, Erik continued to hop jolly high along the corridor, having forgotten to where he was about to go moments before, until he came face-to-face with a lovely girl whose large brown eyes and open-mouthed expression led him to believe that she had either been frightened (justifiably so) by his appearance or behavior, or she had just seen one of the purple nuns running about and was currently in a state of shock.

Her deer-in-headlights look, after staying the same for a bit, caused Erik to grow restless (as he was still strong up on his narcotic) and he finally prodded her with a bit of his remaining coffee cake.

Her round, blank stare turned and then focused on his mask; then the girl tilted her head to the side and gazed fixedly at the coffee cake in Erik's musical hand. The corners of her lips tilting upwards slightly in a hopeful smile, the girl reached out slightly for a bit of Erik's cake.

"No!" Erik protested, shaking his head and bouncing a few feet away. "No, no, you stay away, crazy muffin mouth! My cake, mine!" Seething, Erik began to inch away from the girl further before surprising even himself and turning quickly to shoot a small piece of the cake into the girl's mouth like a basketball going through a hoop. Or, to be more accurate, a baseball going through a hula hoop...or better yet, a golf ball being tossed into a swimming pool.

With that having been done, Erik trounced off, without any thought of who that girl was or why her mouth had been gaping like the Grand Canyon (which Erik knew all about, as he had a subscription to National Geographic in addition to Cosmopolitan).

On his way to the roof, as that is where Erik currently decided he was going to go, the Opera Ghost was also confronted by an incredibly sexy man with wavy brown hair and lusciously pouting lips, an angular-faced woman whose eyes appeared to be to close together, and a sexy (but not so sexy as the incredibly sexy pouter) man with a thin, triangular nose and very flippy-floppy hair (but Erik hurried away from this man, as every few minutes he would randomly rip off his shirt, buttons flying, and then replace it with another shirt, which was, without doubt, going to be ripped off again soon).

Finally, Erik encountered the crisp, fresh air of the beautiful, romantic city of Paris. Or, at least, he would have encountered crisp fresh air is the Parisian air wasn't rather smoggy...and overcast, and about to rain. As it were, Erik encountered rather humid air that did nothing for his superfluous lungs. True, Erik need not breathe as he was a true ghost, but still he had been yearning for his lungs to be filled with some oxygen that wasn't being shared with the algae of the fifth cellar.

With a disappointed sigh, the famed phantom (not that he knew it) descended once more into the abysmally dank cellars of the Pairs Opera House, vowing to never repeat such a completely pointless adventure at the expense of his health (he had forgotten, once again, that he was dead), just for some caffeine and sugar. With a quick stop for a pint of chocolate ice cream, Erik ventured back into the cellars and then his home to pursue the artificial happiness that daytime television and primetime TiVo brought. Good times.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow...that one is pretty sugar-induced. Pop rocks and soda, I'm telling you...only mix with extreme caution...Review if you like.

* * *


End file.
